Stirring
by ijustlovemesomefriedchicken
Summary: Phil has been searching for that perfect cup of tea for the majority of his disappointing life. And who knows, maybe an angry and confused little boy can help him with that. (For orangesofsymmetry as part of the Christmas fic exchange- bit late, oops. cx )


**Hello! Yes, I disappeared off the face of the earth...back now, not dead. -waves-**  
><strong>So we'll skip the depression and other stupid excuses and get on with this LONG BELATED FIC I'M SO EMINENTLY SORRY. This was actually for the Christmas fic exchange, organised by my good friend potatoes-are-not-for-sex. Thanks for letting me join, Sarah!<strong>  
><strong>And I also hope orangesofsymmetry enjoys this, as it's sole purpose of it's existence is for your entertainment, my dear. c:<strong>

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><p>Too much milk. Not enough sugar. Watery, like; do you have any comprehension of what I'm trying to describe in so many words? Well, there's not exactly a limit. I only restrain myself, should I put anyone who has taken the time of day to read this off me as much as I did all my friends. Let's be quaint and abandon the subject soon afterwards on a doorstep in some city, pouring of rain and hopefully drowning it: drugs.<p>

And no more shall be said of it, I promise. Who wants to be friends with an ex junkie? Constantly worrying for their relapse if they even see a syringe; that's far too much work, isn't it? So here I sit, alone. Except for my books, which I seem to plough through faster than light itself. Personally I think that's the only thing that stops me re-establishing contact with the dealer down the road, but we'll leave that one sitting in the rain, too.

I work here, you know. Where I'm sitting writing this just now. Have done for the past three years and never have I met a friend. Even a friendly colleague; someone, anyone, to make me feel slightly less alone in this world. But only the coffee machine talks to me- well, it kind of screams, really. Like an angry mother, disgusted and disappointed in her faggot of a son.

After my hat and apron have long been hung up and my book retrieved from my locker, I sit with the customers I had served only minutes before. Always by the same window in the same corner. Or as near to it as possible; how would anyone know this is the "strange emo loner's" preferred seat? I'll always sit as near to it as possible, where the reading lamp is situated for me to curl up under until closing time, when I'm shooed out like a stray cat.

It's almost that time again, when the sky has turned black as pitch and the street lights come out of their hiding. The cafe's almost dead at this time, only staying open as it prays upon a few late-night workers coming through for a caffeine fix. The lights have been dimmed, the tables cleared and wiped and a silence settling around me like the steam of the coffee maker as it screams at me.

I always order the same cup of tea. I did so only a few seconds ago. I pray for the sheer perfection; a perfection that I have never truly experienced; like some strange legend. I can hear the machine whirring away as we speak, the nonchalant student standing beside it rapidly texting some new love interest; my senses tell me he's gay, but I always overhear him talking of a girl. Some blonde he's going to bang senseless, you know the way of quite clearly heterosexual men. "You can only deny who you are for so long. And then it all catches up with you and it's too late," I said to him one day. He looked rather shocked I could communicate at all and he scurried away without saying a word.

And here he comes. That hair, flopping over his face just like mine but a chocolate brown in colour and desultorily flopping in the opposite direction. "Tea?" he asks with an air of torpor.

I'm suddenly hit with how, for lack of a better word, beautiful he is. With brown eyes matching his hair and the clearest teenage skin I'd ever seen, not to mention his fucking legs...he brushes up rather...hot? "You're, uhm, staring.." he points out as he sets the tray down in front of me, decorated with a teapot and matching mug and saucer.

"Sorry. Sorry! I was just...I haven't seen you before," I stutter.

"Yes you have. You're the smart-arse that decided to tell me what I already know."

"Oh that was you.." I say innocently, a slightly smirk on my face as I lean forward to pour my beverage.

"Don't act stupid, Phil. I know you're a smart little cookie, you and your books. All those theories and ideas running in circles around your head...and what do you chose to do? Sit, read books and drink tea," he finishes with a sneer.

"No tea then. Coffee drinker, am I right?"

"I'm shit at making tea anyway."

"I'll be the judge of that, shall I? Have a seat, Daniel."

"It's Dan," came the grumble, but a few seconds later I hear the unspry sound of a teenager flinging themselves down on the sofa.

"When did you know you were gay?" I ask, causally making conversation as I lean forward and next pour my milk. Water, clearly, first and then comes the milk; only a dash, mind.

"Whoa whoa whoa, not enough milk," he says suddenly, making me abandon all assumptions of him thinking over his answer. _Drawing blood from a rock_; I roll my eyes. He usurps the small milk jug and pours in another small dose. To be perfectly honest, I can't quite fathom what difference this is making, but I shrug it off.

"Sugar?" he looks up long enough to ask and see my small nod of a reply before pulling the tray over to his side of the table for convenience. He proceeds to fish out the tea bag, letting the surplus tea drip back into the mug before squashing the remains out with his index and middle fingers. Surely it would burn, but he continues to do this several times without so much as a flinch.

I repeat my earlier question, "When did you figure out you were gay, Dan?"

He shrugs nonchalantly as he drags the sugar bowl over for an interrogation carried out by the spoon clutched in his left hand. "How many?"

"Two." The spoon dips in once, twice; and when I think he's done, it smuggles a little more- not quite half a spoon- into the hot liquid. "What, a few months ago? Weeks, even? You're not openly gay, are you?"

"Look, what the fuck do you actually care for?" he asks suddenly. "It's none of your fucking business, Phil, just drop it. You don't know shit."

"Judging by your reaction, I obviously know something," I point out.

"What are you then?"

"Guess."

He sighs heavily as the pedantic stirring starts. And by this I mean _pedantic_. Most people take an average of five to ten seconds to stir a small mug of tea; oh no, he takes at least twenty. Stirring clockwise and then anti-clockwise and back round again just for certaity, I watch as if charmed by a snake-charmer or some necromancer.

"So you think you know everything, then?"

"I know the difficulties I faced that you probably face now, yes."

"Such as?"

"If you really want to know?"

He only shrugged a single shoulder in response.

"Sure. I was bullied every single day since I came out- a little younger than you, maybe- until the day I left school, and even a little afterwards. It got so bad I tried to kill myself twice and when that failed I then turned to drugs. If you think I don't know shit, you're wrong," I add the last statement darkly.

His derisive semblance notably diminishes as he utters softly, "I'm so sorry."

"I'm not," I sigh.

"What, so you'd still do it? Right now, if I was an asshole- which, by the way, I'm really not even though I act like it- and I told you to go and kill yourself right now, would you do it? Phil, go toss yourself off of Adder bridge! You're telling me you'd still do it?"

"No one would care if I did, that's all I'm saying."

"I would."

"Thanks, kid. But honestly-" I lift my teacup, sitting calling my name, to my lips- "you should show your caring to someone worthier."

And with this, knocking Dan into a state of speechlessness, I take my first slurp. It's...it's...! A wave of feelings crash over me as the sweetness enters my mouth, the sugar potent at first, but being swiftly deposed by the bitter tea, before they integrate; and as soon as I swallow, it leaves a vestige of...of what I would illogically call joy. My mouth splays open like that of a goldfish, and Dan's features cloud with concern.

"Phil..?"

"I- sorry, who told you you were shit at making tea? I'll put it on my incredulously long to-do list to slap that motherfucker."

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><p>There's a motion behind me, and suddenly an austere weight is on me, incessantly shaking me out of peaceful dreams. "Phil! Phil, Phil, Phil, Phil, Phil, Phil! For God's sake, it should be vice versa, this! C'<em>mon<em>, it's Christmas!"

And at the very word I shoot up, knocking Dan clean over to his side of the bed. "Christmas?!"

"That's right," Dan smirks.

"Wait a second, isn't it September?" I raise an eyebrow, then lower it as a jocose form of anger takes over; I shake my head. "You mendacious bastard..."

"Tea?"

"Oh, big time."

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><p><strong>And that's that! Oh lord, it feels good to be uploading again! I hope to do so a lot more regularly. If you liked this feel free to drop me a nice review and I'll see ya soon? :') <strong>  
><strong>Again, apologies this was so late... -prepares self for perdition- <strong>


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